


revisiting, reminding

by cloudings



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bars and Pubs, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Car Sex, Hook-Up, M/M, Season/Series 12, Top Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-18 00:13:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29480493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloudings/pseuds/cloudings
Summary: When fellow hunter Max Banes offers to help him out, Dean’s more than happy to let off some intense, physical, spontaneous steam with him.He’s just not sure why he keeps thinking of Cas instead of the man he’s got his dick in.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Max Banes/Dean Winchester
Comments: 8
Kudos: 45





	revisiting, reminding

**Author's Note:**

> hello!!!! i couldn’t stop thinking about the lack of max fics. and i love dean. so here’s max/dean. for the soul :) and ofc deancas cos they’re deancas. 
> 
> TAKES PLACE AFTER 12x06 “Celebrating the Life of Asa Fox” AND BEFORE 12x20 “Twigs & Twine & Tasha Banes”.

It wasn’t like things were entirely fucking normal, at the minute. 

Their mom was awol. Cas was awol, for the most part. Sam was just sitting there, not doing anything but pretending everything was fine, and Dean was tired. He was _tired._

He missed his mom. He’d just gotten her back, for crying out loud, and she didn’t seem to want anything to do with him. Too busy shacking up with the English. Well. He hoped that she was enjoying the crumpets. 

And don’t get him started on Cas. Really. Every time Sam brought up his angel’s name, it sparked a burning in his chest that he couldn’t put a name to. Whatever was going on with the guy, he just wished that he knew. Wished he could help. How friggin’ hard was it to pick up a phone, these days, anyway? Or just to zap into the room for a deep _hello, Dean,_ like he used to. Like he almost… missed. Whatever.

He needed a drink. He needed a drink, and a _strong_ one _;_ one that wasn’t from the refrigerator in the Bunker. 

“I’m going out,” he called, grabbing his coat. He could practically feel concern radiating from his brother. 

Sam sat up at the main desk, asked, “What? Where?”

“ _Out,_ ” he repeated. “I need a drink. Or ten.”

“Dean, come on. I’m sure we’ll find Cas soon, or- or mom. One of them is bound to —”

Dean held up a hand. “Yeah, I don’t care. Okay? I don’t care anymore if two of the most important people in our lives have decided to leave us in the dust. I just need some whisky, a motel room, and a warm body to spend the night with, okay?”

He let the door slam on his way out. 

*

_Pooches_ was a nice bar with nice booze. It was fancier than Dean was used to when drinking away his feelings, but it did the job, and it did it well. It even had a freaking dance floor, full of sweaty bodies grinding to the music in the dark, multicoloured glow of the room. It was a place made to help him forget his worries. He was pointedly trying hard _not_ to think about Cas. Stupid Cas. 

Dean had secured a stool right at the bar and was not intending on giving it up. He’d lost count of how many shots he’d thrown down his gullet at this point, and he was signalling the pretty blonde bartender for another two. She seemed to be happy with his placement at the bar, fluttering her eyelashes at him every time she peered over, biting her lip at his smiles. 

Dean was feeling particularly good about getting that warm body in bed with him. 

He threw back one of the new shots. Threw her his winning smile. He said, “So, have you ever heard —”

“Winchester?” a voice came. Dean felt a hand on his back. Warm. “Dean Winchester?”

Dean turned to face the source of the voice, a smile of recognition already spreading across his face. The warm hand moved across his jacket to his shoulder as the man came and stood at his side. He was squeezed in between the two occupied stools, his legs touching Dean’s sitting thigh. He leant against the bar and gave him a grin. 

“So, it is you,” he confirmed, and took the other shot that Dean had ordered right from in front of him. He swallowed it in one, never breaking eye contact. 

“Max,” Dean greeted, his eyes following the shot glass to his lips. “How you been, buddy?” 

“I’ve been great,” he told him, and only now dropped his hand from Dean’s shoulder. “Even better now that I’ve had a chance to come here and relax, you know? Let my hair down?” 

Dean nodded his appraisal at that. God, did he know and understand that need _very well._

“Yeah, man,” he said. “I get you. Shit is all over the place, at the moment.”

Max tilted his head, drawing his brows in a little. “You wanna talk about it?” he asked. Dean’s subsequent grimace had him rolling his eyes. “Oh, come on,” Max said. “We both know you’re not likely to rant to your brother about this stuff, so… Out with it.” He leant in closer, so he said right into Dean’s ear, “I’m good at keeping secrets.”

He thought about it for a second. Then two. And then he asked the blonde bartender for two glasses of her best whiskey, one for him and his friend, and he nodded. 

“I don’t know,” he huffed into the glass. “My mom, she’s… She’s been all over the place recently. Sammy’s convinced that it’ll all be fine. Trying to convince me, though I don’t believe a word of it. And Cas…” 

“Castiel?” Max asked. “Your friend, the angel?”

“Yeah,” Dean scoffed. “My friend, the angel. Not that you’d really think it, lately. He hasn’t answered any of my calls in God knows how long. Texts, neither. Completely off the grid.”

“Wow,” the young man hummed, holding his glass of whiskey loosely. “Sounds like you’re worried sick. Being an angel, can’t he... Defend himself?”

Dean shrugged. “He can. He’s just… Easily led astray, I guess. Yeah, I— You could say I’m worried.”

“Hence the drinking.” Max nodded. “Right. I get it.”

Dean didn’t know what to say to that, and the look in Max’s eye was a little too knowing for his liking. He didn’t know what kind of powers the guy possessed, being a witch and all, but it wasn’t the direction that he’d wanted the conversation to go in. At all. 

So, he redirected it. “Hey, uh, where’s Alicia? You two had a fight, or something?” 

“Mm, no. She came here with me. If I’m correct, she’s probably on her way back to the motel with a guy that I told her _I_ had dibs on. Where’s the loyalty?” 

“Ah,” Dean chuckled, taking another sip. “That’s rough, dude. Hey, why don’t you get a seat? We can talk some more. Don’t know as many hunters as we used to.” _Because they’re all dead_ , he didn’t say. One more sip. He held his smile steady.

Max only laughed, and gestured to the heaps of sweaty drunks surrounding them. “Where? It’s packed.”

“Good point,” Dean said, inclining his head. “I don’t know, you’re a witch, aren’t you? Can’t you spell them away, or something?”

“I could just sit on your lap,” Max suggested. “Would be a lot easier.”

The whiskey halted halfway to his lips. Though he felt each and every muscle inside of his body freeze up and tense, the unmistakable heat of desire that spread to his gut and lower like a lightning bolt. His lips parted as if he was going to speak in protest, or in anything at all. No words left his mouth. He blinked once, twice, three times. 

“I’m _kidding,_ Winchester,” Max said, releasing a laugh filled with disbelief and wariness. “Trust me. I know you don’t swing my way. Don’t worry.”

Maybe it was the alcohol that made him say it. Maybe it was the fact that his life had made him so damn irritable lately that it was just nice to contradict somebody. Wipe away their assumptions. _Especially_ ones about him. 

“Yeah?” he murmured. “You’d be surprised.”

And he let the words stew for a moment, not wanting to be the first to speak again, not wanting to see the look on the guy’s face. He hadn’t missed the looks that old confession got. The reactions. He hadn’t missed this feeling. 

“Oh,” he heard Max say after a while. Dean’s eyes didn’t leave his drink. “I am surprised. But not disappointed.”

But Dean couldn’t help but double take at that, his gaze landing on the smirk on the man’s face before flickering up to stare right at him. Dean’s eyes were wide where Max’s were narrow, half-lidded and full of a new interest, and he was conscious of every thump of his heartbeat in his ear, every moment that their shared look shot another buzz down to his groin. 

“Not disappointed, huh?” he hummed, impressed and needing to keep a cool head despite the anxiety rushing through him. His arousal and inebriation were almost overpowering that, anyway. “Nobody… Nobody knows that about me. By the way.” 

“That’s okay,” Max told him, leaning down next to his ear again. “I told you, I’m good at keeping secrets.”

His mouth felt parched. He knew that the whiskey wouldn’t help, but still he drank it, for confidence more than anything. He tried to think logistically but logic had left his brain for the moment, and he was trying to pretend like he wasn’t who he was, like he wasn’t as scared as he had been the very first time he’d done this. He asked, “Did you say you’d booked into a motel around here?”

The lick of Max’s lips before his wide smile did nothing to help the tightening of his trousers. He watched the man nod. He felt his body shift closer towards him, one leg stood between his open thighs on the stool. Max wasn’t quite pinned or closed in against the bar, and nobody would notice if they weren’t looking for the proximity, Dean thought, trying to calm himself down a bit. It was too crowded for that. Still, Dean didn’t dare move his hands where he wanted to move them. Not until they were out of here. 

“I did,” Max purred. “I also said that Alicia was heading there with a guy of her own. However!” He perked up, seeing the disgruntlement on Dean’s face. “You’re lucky we got two rooms.” 

Dean let out a hot breath, heavy with the scent of alcohol. Practically its natural state. He had to pray that Max didn’t mind. 

_Pray._

He shook the word out of his head, wanting to forget about anything and everything to do with it. He definitely did not want to have Cas in his head, figuratively or literally, as he was doing what he was about to do. 

“How close by is this motel?” Dean asked, because the proximity really _was_ getting to him now. He was lucky he was so used to masking his feelings around men. 

“Ten minutes by car,” was the answer, and not a good one. Even Dean could admit now that it wasn’t a good idea for him to try to drive Baby; not when he’d had so many drinks. Not when he was this turned on. Max had seemed to read his mind, and maybe he actually _had_ , because, hello, _witch,_ after all. He spoke again, voicing Dean’s concern unto him, “I agree. I don’t think it’s a good idea to risk that beautiful car of yours. But…” 

Dean tried to steady his breathing as Max lifted a hand to his neck, his thumb right across his Adam’s apple. He could only hope that Max didn’t feel how fast his pulse was going, and if he did, then he hoped he assumed it was because of his arousal. Dean wasn’t sure it wasn’t. He just knew that doing things like this in such a public setting was _way_ off of the cards for him. 

Regardless, Dean didn’t move his hand. He allowed the man to hold him by the throat, and said, “But?”

“But,” Max repeated. “Nobody said we couldn’t do anything _in_ that beautiful car of yours.” A flash of teeth in a smile that could be described only as determinedly lustful. “Right?”

Dean could only gulp at the idea, a whole new hot flush settling over him again, and this time it was Dean who leant in and said, “Keys are in my front pocket.”

Max was neither subtle nor delicate in extracting them, which seemed to be a theme. He was neither subtle nor delicate when extracting Dean from the bar, either. He dragged Dean out by his wrist eagerly, a picture of attractive eagerness. 

“You’re sober enough to drive it into that clearing over there, right?” Max asked, his eyes dropping to Dean’s lips with every other word he spoke. “It’s not exactly discreet, doing it in the parking lot.”

“Oh,” Dean teased. “ _Now_ you’re worrying about being discreet, huh?”

Dean did as was requested of him, pulling the car into the clearing in the trees. It was a good catch; nobody would be able to see what they were doing unless they came for a proper look. The short drive sobered him up a little, but not in a bad way; not so that he was beginning to regret these decisions. He hadn’t been _that_ drunk to start with. 

Max shifted across the seat and placed his palm onto Dean’s thigh, pressing a chaste kiss to the side of his neck. “You nervous?” he asked him finally, and Dean let out a small sigh. 

He turned to him and allowed himself to drink in the sultry expression on Max’s face, the thick heat heavy between the two of them. He licked his lips and answered, “It’s been a long time since I’ve done this with a — with a—”

“With a dude?” Max finished for him, and Dean nodded. “I’m not gonna say to pretend I’m a woman, since you clearly don’t need to.” His eyes indicated the growing bulge in Dean’s jeans. “I’ll say to let yourself enjoy this. Nothing to be nervous about.” Another kiss at his jaw. Closer to his lips, now. “Promise I’ll be gentle.”

Dean finally let his hands move, let them grab hold of Max’s waist and direct him forwards, thumbs mindlessly stroking the evidence of fitness beneath his shirt. “I never said I was looking for gentle,” he told him, and kissed him before he could retort. 

It was a wild thing, when two hunters fucked. Dean had obviously had sex with hunters before, but each and every time surprised him. Max, like other hunters he’d encountered, kissed with the ferocity of somebody who knew what was out there. Knew the dangers of this world and knew that each day could be their very last. 

Dean _loved_ how hunters kissed. 

It was fast, emotionless. Like saying, _we’d better get this done with quick, because there could be a vamp around the corner._ Also like saying, _we’d better make this the best we can, because we might not get it ever again._

He could feel himself hardening even more inside of his pants, and his brain (the one that was not above his shoulders) urged him to keep sliding his hands upwards, beneath Max’s shirt to his chest. Muscle memory was having him search for something there, for nonexistent tits that Dean would normally be cupping and pulling out of their bras. Instead, Dean’s hands found only fields of flat muscle until the pads of his fingers found the man’s nipples, and the thought of all of that had Dean panting into the already messy kiss. 

When Max pulled away to compliment him on the roughness of his hands, Dean took the opportunity to rip his shirt off over his head. And then his own. 

He rejoined their lips in a kiss full of thirst and pushed Max so that his back was laying on the leather of the car seat, Dean hovering over him. One hand kept him up while the other spanned the plains of Max’s chest and his stomach, an ache in his heart telling him how much he had missed this; making him wonder an answerless question of why he’d denied it himself for so long. 

Dean never normally did this in the front seat. Granted, he never normally did this with men at all, but he _never_ normally fucked in the front seat. That was the sacred place of the sacred place; a rule between brothers. Not to mention, the back was just easier. But holy _fuck._ Dean would be absolutely damned (with no pun intended) if he were to stop this now, if he were to wrench himself out of this kiss and get out of the car to manoeuvre into the back. He was perfectly happy right here, thank you. And if the horn got honked, the horn got honked. 

Max’s hand found Dean’s belt and zipper before Dean had a chance to go in that direction first. He could feel the calloused hands on him through his underwear, then, such a stark difference to the blurred manicured hands that had been and gone over the years. 

Even more of a difference was when Max unbuckled his own jeans and pressed their bare erections together for the first time. Dean released a sound that he would vehemently deny was possible of him should anybody ever try to replicate it. He had missed kissing men, he had missed their expanses of hard muscled flatness… but this? _This?_

Dean had apparently missed this more than even he had known. He took the initiative quickly, wrapping his hand around both of their cocks and rolling his hips. His erection glided against both his hand and Max’s own excitement, the wetness at their tips aiding with acceleration, and _that,_ ladies and gentlemen, was what Dean Winchester had deigned the true meaning of Heaven on Earth. 

Dean felt his hips stutter at the thought. Bad choice of words, he told himself, because he was absolutely _not_ going to think of Heaven at this moment in time. Dean had a wonderfully attractive man beneath him, writhing in pleasure at Dean’s hands, and Dean was not going to think of Heaven, he was not going to think of angels, and he was _not going to think of Castiel._

“Fuck,” Max groaned into his mouth. “Before you pull my jeans off completely, it’s your turn to check my pockets, I think.”

Dean did so. When he pulled out what he found, it was with a raised eyebrow and only a little amused exasperation.

“What? I like to be prepared.” Max shrugged, rolling his hips up once to take Dean off guard. “Coming in handy now, don’t you think?”

Dean stared at the packet of condoms and the small tube of lubricant he’d pulled out from Max’s jeans, milling over the ideas and possibilities in his head. He wanted to. He wanted to _badly._ His cock wanted to, even more so. 

“When you say that you’re prepared…” Dean hummed, trailing off, because it may have been a long time since he’d last done this, but he hadn’t forgotten a single damn thing about the process. 

“Fully prepared,” Max assured him. “We don’t have to. And I’m still not going to tell anybody. I just want the satisfaction of knowing I’ve had the Great Dean Winchester’s cock inside of me.”

“Oh, fuck, Max,” Dean breathed, yanking the man’s trousers off the rest of the way and throwing them to the backseat as Max laughed. 

“I’ll take that as a yes?” he teased, as Dean let his hands do what they did best, wandering down to the man’s ass and caressing it, squeezing it. This was muscular, too, but still bouncing as Dean gripped it and let it go again. 

Dean opened the one of the condom packets and rolled the condom onto his erection, smirking down at Max as he did so. He liked the look that he was giving him, liked how he reached down to jerk his own cock in his hand as he watched Dean tower over him. Liked it even more when Dean drizzled some of the lubricant over his fingers and, for the first time in God knows how many years, slipped one inside of the man laying before him. 

He could swear that he was biting his lip raw at this point, focusing so intently on the sight in front of him. He slipped his middle finger in and out of Max, watching how his face contorted at certain actions. 

“I told you I was already prepared,” Max huffed, his voice all breath and borderline impatience.

Dean smirked at him, slipping in his index finger alongside the first, before telling him, “Come on, baby. This is part of the fun.”

He kissed him hard as he moved his hand, pumping his fingers in and out of him. This, he could do. This, he was used to, and he was good at, at least if Max’s reactions were anything to go by. 

When he was satisfied that there would be absolutely no hurt when it came to the main act, Dean readied himself and aimed in the appropriate position, desperate to get some relief. This _,_ he thought, was kind of a big step. Like losing his gay virginity all over again. And in a way, he supposed that he was. Since being born again, he’d not slept with a man. Hadn’t been with one for long before that. He was losing his gay virginity again. Thank Heavens for that.

Dean pushed inside of Max just as he thought to himself, _I’m not thanking Heaven for anything_ , and tried to distract himself in the sensation that was almost shaking his knees. And he needed his knees right now because he was leaning on them, his hands on Max’s hips, pulling him slightly off of the leather. Dean was still conscious about getting things onto the front seat, though these worries were very quickly being forgotten.

Max began to move his hips himself, urging Dean to go on. To fuck him. And Dean did, starting to pull back and snap his hips forward again, his eyes torn between rolling upwards at his own pleasure and watching the man beneath him writhe with it himself. He was truly stunning like this, jaw dropped, one hand around his dick and the other pressed against the window for a form of support. 

So he didn’t know why his mind was straying. 

They had established a rhythm now, the sound of flesh against flesh echoing throughout the car, coupled with moans and faint whispers of _yes, please, right there_ and _fuck, fuck, fuck._ It was the most turned on that Dean thought he’d been in years, somehow, and Dean’s mind wasn’t even on the model of the man who currently had his dick inside him. Dean’s mind was on Castiel, Angel of the fucking Lord. 

Perhaps it was because he had been forcing himself not to think of him all night. Perhaps it was the alcohol again, because that was easy enough to blame. Or perhaps it was because he was fucking a man again and for some reason, it felt strange to him that that person shouldn’t be Castiel. 

Dean’s head dropped back as he imagined it thoroughly, Castiel lying beneath him instead of Max. Castiel being the one naked before him, hardness leaking all over his own stomach. Castiel being the one that Dean was fucking, making these little noises and occasionally saying his name in the same deep voice he always used, this time with unbeatable erotic urgency. 

Dean gasped at that, the thought sending a shock through his body and right to his dick. He wrapped a hand around Max’s semi-neglected hard-on and tried to focus on him again. Really, Max was _gorgeous._ Dean had thought so when they had first met at Fox’s wake. And it was a miracle that he was being granted the opportunity to fuck him now. He wasn’t going to waste this time thinking about somebody else when he had Max rocking his car in the best possible way.

_Cas,_ his mind said, regardless. _Cas, Cas, Cas._ One name for one thrust. Max would moan _there!_ and Dean would try not to moan his best friend’s name out loud. It was working, anyway, and Dean was keeping himself stubbornly quiet as he came closer and closer to climax. 

Dean leant down to kiss him again, swallowing his enthusiastic whimpers. When he finally pulled back up, his gaze met blue. A familiar man in a familiar trench-coat and blue tie stared back at him from outside of the car window. Dean blinked, and he was gone, and Dean was cumming harder than he had done… ever. And his mind sang, _Cas_.

He had no choice but to slow his own thrusts now before pulling out completely, his hand now still working hard on Max’s dick. He gripped Dean’s arm impressively tight and Dean knew when the time came, watched him arching off of the seat and shooting whiteness all down the front of his torso. 

In the afterglow, they sat for a while. That… That was what he wanted his Heaven to be like. Dean pondered when he had gotten so old, because his limbs never _used to_ ache like this after car sex. He tied and threw the used condom into a trash can a couple feet from the window. Got it in one. He also pondered on whether or not what he had seen had been real; if Castiel had finally had enough of ignoring them and had chosen to come down at, truly, the most inopportune moment possible. 

Max offered him a cigarette and lit his own with his finger after Dean refused and told him to just roll down the window if he was gonna smoke in his baby. They were both still catching their breath. 

“Well, Winchester,” Max said around his cigarette, eyes smiling. “I’m extremely fucked out, I’ll give you that. I’m impressed.”

Dean chuckled. “Fucked by _the Great_ Dean Winchester. You’re welcome.”

“I am absolutely not saying thank you. You finished first, so _you’re_ welcome.” Max grinned. “Think you’re gonna dabble with men a bit more now? Have I taken you back to your glory days?”

He thought about that a bit. He wondered if the angels… if Cas had been watching him, truly watching him, every time he’d had sex. Not just today. And including back then, when girls and guys were almost as frequent for him. Before John found out.

“You may have convinced me,” he admitted. “It’s, uh, hiding it from Sammy. Real tough when your brother’s a know-it-all.”

“Ugh, don’t,” Max tittered. “Alicia knew about me before I even knew myself. Used to go on about it to me, asking me if I had a boyfriend yet. It wasn’t malicious. It was because she did, and she wanted to show off. Then when I _did_ get a boyfriend and showed her up…” He grinned, laughing at the memory. 

Dean smiled at him. Then he picked up Max’s underwear and jeans from the floor and handed them to him. He moved slowly, and Dean felt bad for a moment. He remembered that, too. Remembered it well. And suddenly images of Castiel doing _that_ to him were popping up in his head, and Dean had to zip up his jeans before Max got any ideas about a round two. He may not be old, but he wasn’t getting any younger. 

“I hope things go alright with you and your angel,” Max said to him, pulling his shirt over his head. “Don’t worry. If he’s half as into you as you’re into him, then he’ll be back soon enough.”

Dean’s instinct was to protest. That was like second nature, almost. Deny any presence of homosexual love to be his problem. 

Dean smiled at Max as he got out of the car, and after wishing him a safe night, he said to himself, “Yeah. He’d better.”

***

Dean was whistling when he entered the kitchen the next morning. Sam could not have looked more surprised. 

“Wow,” he said, staring at Dean with both brows halfway up his forehead. “You’re not cranky and hungover. You must have had like, the best sex ever?”

Dean lifted a glass of water to his lips, and, as he began to say, “Actually, Sam, I’ve been meaning to —” Dean’s ringtone for Cas was ringing throughout the kitchen, and there were a few moments before he fully registered what that meant. 

When he hung up, it was with flushed cheeks.

“Heaven,” Dean said to Sam. “He said he’s been in Heaven. Got back last night.”


End file.
